It began early. Ever the considerate hostel roommate, I had laid out my clothes the night before and packed my bags so I wouldn't make too much noise leaving the room this morning. I think they appreciated that.
I hauled my stuff out the door and onto the street, and was pleased to see it wasn't raining. With 10 kilos hanging from my shoulders and another 30 bumping along the pavement behind me, I set off for the Metro. It wasn't a long walk but it was enough to make me think I should have gone straight to Caen in the first place. It was just long enough too to take that thought back as I passed the park I'd seen the snow in the day earlier. Of course it was worth coming to Paris for a week, what was I thinking! All the Kodak moments, my new friends, experiencing the first attempt at someone stealing my camera, tripping over on cobblestone streets...
Fully expecting nobody to bother, I was suprised when a Parisian picked up the other end of my 30kg bag and helped me down the stairs, albeit the last 4 of about 40. A ticket stop, a line change and about 50 minutes later I was back at Charles de Gaulle, waiting for my fellow Australian, John, to arrive. A message told me he was stuck in Heathrow with ice on the wings but hours later, still alone, I set off to find the Welcoming Committee. Greeting with big smiles and plenty of helping hands, I felt all warm and fuzzy to be treated so nicely after the Metro's chilly hospitality. John's flight was delayed for ages and when he finally did arrive, it was sans luggage. (Note to self: do not fly British Airways out of Heathrow.)
A 2 hour bus journey followed - some time was spent chatting to new classmates, some spent playing stupid French versions of Pictionary, and the rest staring out the window at snow covered fields and hoping it would last until Caen.
Vintage Sepia House Image!
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